


Batty Baggins

by alkjira



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Courtship, During The Hobbit, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-29 17:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3905227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/pseuds/alkjira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo wanted an adventure but he didn’t expect to wake up one morning and discover that he now had wings. (And not the fluffy feathery kind of wings either, nope, that would have been too easy.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, new, longer and improved (?) version of this story which was born in the Small, Cute and Cuddly collection.
> 
> For the Hobbit Story Big Bang

Immediately when Bilbo woke up he knew something strange must have come about during the night.  
  
To start, his back ached as if he’d spent a week bent over his writing without even stopping for tea, or as if he’d spent that week out in the garden weeding; particularly stubborn and long-rooted weeds at that.  
  
Waking up with aching body parts was not that uncommon, at least not since he’d left for an adventure, but so far his back had not been one of them. (The same could not be said for his thighs and backside, courtesy of Myrtle, a sweet and friendly soul, but whichever Vala had created ponies could have taken care to make them more comfortable.)  
  
Secondly, when he opened his eyes he could see all of his Dwarven companions looking up at him with round, wide eyes. Yes, _up_.  
  
Because the third thing Bilbo noticed was the entire world was upside down. Or rather, that _he_ was.  
  
And that’s when Bilbo fell out of the tree he’d been hanging from.  
  
If not for Dwalin’s quick thinking his landing would have been quite an uncomfortable one, but thankfully Bilbo was snagged out of the air before any part of him managed to hit the ground.

Bilbo yelped as he flailed his way into Dwalin’s arms; the flailing caused mostly by surprise as there wasn’t really enough time to be frightened.  
  
Realising that he’d found something sturdy to hold on to Bilbo proceeded to wrap both arms, legs and…

The Hobbit’s eyes widened. _Wings_.  
  
He had arms, legs and _wings_ wrapped around Dwalin’s solid form, only Bilbo was _very_ much sure that he wasn’t supposed to have any wings at all to wrap around anything.  
  
This conviction did not sway reality one bit, and when Bilbo inspected both himself and Dwalin there was only one conclusion to make.  
  
There were indeed wings. And they did indeed seem to be attached to none other than himself, though they were doing their best to get as close to Dwalin as possible, not that Bilbo could blame them… however that was not relevant to the current situation.  
  
This wasn’t- he wasn’t- _Wings_. Hobbits were not supposed to have wings.  
  
And why were they dark, almost sinister looking wings? They reminded Bilbo of the bats that usually flapped about at dusk during summer only his wings were much larger, and attached to _him_. And also rather… furry. Small curly tufts of hair covered the wings all along the upper edges, growing thicker closer to his shoulders. Not a feather in sight.  
  
“What’s going on?” Bilbo asked – voice just this side of shrill - looking up into Dwalin’s blue-grey eyes. Seeing them filled with concern was both alarming and comforting in roughly the same measure.  
  
“You were gone when we woke up,” Dwalin said gruffly. “Found you hanging in the tree.”  
  
“Is this something Hobbits do?” Kíli asked, head tilted to the side in puppy-like confusion as he looked between Bilbo and the tree.  
  
“Grow wings over night?” Bilbo asked, no less shrilly than before. “Hang from trees? No, we most certainly _do not_.”  
  
It occurred to him that he probably should stop clinging to Dwalin.  
  
Yesterday had been a warm and sunny day, and it had still been rather balmy when they’d rolled out their bedrolls, which meant that Bilbo and Dwalin weren’t the only ones not wearing a shirt. However what the others were or weren’t wearing did not matter as such since Bilbo wasn’t currently glued to anyone of them like a wet leaf on a window. No, that doubtful honour was all Dwalin’s.  
  
Getting his wings to understand that he wanted them to let go wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, especially since figuring out how to move them _hurt_.  
  
The reasons behind his aching back was no longer a mystery. No, it was abundantly clear that the muscles of his back had been quite unprepared to have limbs other than his arms attached to it. How extraordinarily silly of them.  
  
When he accidentally flapped his wings (and by the Valar he’d just _flapped_ his _wings_ ) a small hiss made it out of his mouth and Dwalin’s grip on him tightened; a little counterproductive considering what Bilbo was trying to accomplish. But as Bilbo managed to fold his wings back, still wriggling in Dwalin’s arms, he was gently deposited back on his own two feet once more.  
  
The moment he was released Bilbo swayed, not used to the extra weight on his back even though it couldn’t be said to be a heavy burden. Perhaps it wasn’t the weight as much as the inherent strangeness of it. Wings. He had _wings_.  
  
He wasn’t used to the ache either, but that was at least getting better with every passing moment. Though to feel parts of himself twitching where there shouldn’t even _be_ any parts… that would take some time to get used to and oh dear, what if he really _had_ to get used to it? What if they weren’t going to go away?  
  
Somewhat distracted by that thought Bilbo started a little when an arm curled around his waist, holding him steady as he swayed again.  
  
“Careful,” Dwalin said, brows drawn together in a frown.  
  
“Careful,” Bilbo murmured. “Right.”  
  
His wings flapped in agreement, inadvertently pushing him forward into Dwalin’s chest, nose first.  
  
_Perhaps not in agreement after all then_ , Bilbo thought as he rubbed at his possibly flattened nose and tried not think about if he liked the way Dwalin smelled or not.  
  
-  
  
Gandalf turned out to be mysteriously absent; though as his horse was still grazing with the ponies odds were that he had not gone far.  
  
His absence could be taken to be an admission of guilt, or just a Wizard’s usual tendency to disappear when he was wanted. Like when Dwarfs started showing up at your smial to demand dinner.  
  
Either way, Bilbo’s wings in combination with Gandalf’s absence caused many a grumpy muttering to rise from Thorin’s direction, and Bilbo rather agreed, even though he couldn’t fully understand what Thorin was saying as it was not in Westron.

His impression however was that he was getting a small lecture on the various curse words in whatever the Dwarven language was called.  
  
“I don’t remember anything except going to bed,” Bilbo said and poked a little morosely at a wing, flinching when the touch tickled. “You’d think I’d at least remember getting up into the tree?”  
  
Balin hummed noncommittally and stroked his beard. “I would say magic is to blame for this.”  
  
Bilbo stared at him, and then stared some more. “Really? And here I was contemplating blaming Bombur’s snoring. I’m _so_ glad you cleared that up for me.”  
  
The sound from Bofur’s direction was suspiciously similar to a giggle but when Balin levelled an amused look his way Bofur was a study of innocence. At least until Balin shook his head and turned his attention back to Bilbo.  
  
Newly grown, sinister-looking limbs or not, Bilbo still had to bite his lip not to snort at the wink Bofur gave him.  



	2. Chapter 2

Having all agreed that Bilbo’s wings were very likely magical (no, really) it was further decided that magic was no excuse to stand around gaping at him the whole morning.   
  
After Bilbo had been poked and prodded by Óin (and declared a perfectly healthy - if winged - Hobbit) there was breakfast and then they packed up camp and continued on their way, Gandalf’s horse tethered to Bombur’s pony.  
  
Luckily Bilbo’s pony didn’t seem to mind how Bilbo wasn’t exactly the same Hobbit as yesterday, but the continued proof that Myrtle was an absolute darling aside, Bilbo had some issues. Having wings unfortunately meant that he needed to learn how to ride all over again.   
  
He kept tipping backwards and to the sides since his sense of balance was all _wrong_. And Bilbo’s shoulders and back quickly began to ache again since he kept tensing up and then forgot to relax.  
  
“Do you think you could fly?” Fíli asked, riding up beside Bilbo as the Hobbit was cursing beneath his breath, just in Westron, mind.   
  
That being said, if Gandalf did not return soon then he’d ask someone to teach him whatever it was that Thorin had said earlier. It had carried a little more righteous disgruntlement than Bilbo felt his current selection afforded him.   
  
“Flying would be faster than riding,” Fíli added, looking a little wistfully at the sky.  
  
“And what if the wings disappear while I’m up in the air?” Bilbo asked and shuddered. “No, thank you. If Hobbits were meant to fly, Eru would have given us wings.”  
  
“Maybe the delivery was a little late?” Kíli suggested, looking entirely too excited. “Maybe all Hobbits have wings now. Everyone in the Shire. Just like you. It’s not like we can check. Unless we go back, and I don’t think Uncle would like that.”  
  
Opening his mouth to deny that what Kíli had suggested was possible Bilbo closed it again.   
  
Maybe that _was_ what had happened. Maybe everyone in the Shire had had the same sort of morning he'd had.  
  
"Oh fiddlesticks,” Bilbo murmured as the image of the large party tree filled with sleeping upside-down Hobbits flashed before his mind.   
  
At least the grass below was very thick and soft, so the lack of Dwalins hopefully didn’t mean that anyone would have gotten hurt.  
  
If, and he repeated, _if_ , wings were indeed a widespread condition.  
  
A rather selfish part of him wanted it to be very widespread indeed. If he was the only one… well, when he got back home again at least he wouldn’t be considered strange _only_ due to running off on an adventure.  
  
-  
  
Wings aside it turned out to be a perfectly normal and uneventful day, but as that day turned into afternoon and entered early evening Bilbo began to feel very tired. Tired and _cold_ , even though Dori and Bifur had been absolutely lovely and managed to alter his clothes enough that he could still wear a shirt despite having some… unfortunate and rather flappy, circumstances. His coat was a lost cause though, but Bilbo felt like even two coats wouldn’t have helped.  
  
The temperature had dropped as the sun began to set, but that was normal enough. Most nights so far had not required them to sleep without shirts on. No, summer or not, Bilbo was used to rolling up in a blanket as he prepared himself to ignore Bombur’s snoring.   
  
(Bombur was very good company when he was awake, but when it was time to sleep Bilbo rather wished for him to go somewhere far away and not return until the next morning.)  
  
Anyway, this night was nothing out of the ordinary, certainly not cold enough to merit the shivers running through Bilbo with increasing frequency.   
  
When the time came to make camp for the night he almost couldn’t make himself get off the pony; his muscles too busy claiming that they were too tired and too cold to cooperate.   
  
Bilbo gladly would have promised to listen to Bombur’s snores for the rest of his life as long as the large Dwarf would have promised to lie next to him and keep him warm. The snores would even have been welcome as that would have meant that Bilbo wouldn’t need to listen to his own teeth chattering.   
  
“Whoa there,” Bofur said as Bilbo all but tumbled to the ground as he dismounted; Myrtle neighing anxiously beside him, turning her head to snuffle at his curls. “Bilbo?”  
  
Even though Bofur's voice sounded like it came from somewhere far away Bilbo tried to reply, he really did, but his tongue and lips proved to be just as stubborn as the rest of him.

Before he could manage to form even a single word everything got awfully dark.  



	3. Chapter 3

For the second time that day Bilbo woke up knowing that something unusual was going on.  
  
His bedroll was awfully lumpy to start, but very, very warm, which was very, _very_ nice, and Bilbo yawned and stretched languidly; wings fluttering against the blankets covering them, and then he opened his eyes to meet Bofur’s amused ones. Amused and just a little worried. And very, very close. Close enough that Bilbo could see all the various shades of green and gold making up Bofur’s eyes, and definitely close enough to notice that yes, Bofur did have very pretty eyes.  
  
“Certain types of bats hibernate during the winter,” Bofur said, his warm breath stirring the curls on top of Bilbo’s head. “So they’re sensitive to changes in temperature. And you were so cold when you-“ He snorted. ”Felt like you’d been sitting on an ice pony and not poor Myrtle. Shivering you were. So we needed to warm you up.”  
  
In the next few moments Bilbo realised that his lumpy bedroll was no other than a lumpy Bofur and that the blankets were wrapped snugly around them both. He also realised that apart from the blankets they weren’t really wearing very much. Just their underthings. And he could feel Bofur’s hairy legs against his own, and there was also Bofur’s chest, and stomach, and-  
  
“’m not a bat,” was all Bilbo could think to say, feeling the heat of his blush spread over his cheeks and down his throat. His ears were likely glowing in the dark with the force of it but hopefully his hair helped hide that particular fact as there was no need for it to be public knowledge.  
  
"I don't know," Bofur teased. "Small, furry, with pointy ears. And wings that look suspiciously familiar. Not to mention how you're awfully fond of sweet fruits and flowers. ‘cept you don’t eat the latter I think."  
  
"I'm- _you're_ furry," Bilbo protested, which wasn't the best of comebacks but it had the advantage of being true.   
  
Bofur's chest was entirely covered with dark hair, soft but wiry against Bilbo's cheek. Or... it had been. When he’d still been Bilbo’s bedroll. Or rather, before Bilbo had lifted his head. And he didn't want to put it back down again. And didn’t want to rub his nose against Bofur’s chest. Absolutely no desire at all to check if Bofur smelled as good as Dwalin did. Not that Bilbo had really noticed how Dwalin’s smelled before. Not at _all_.  
  
"Thank you," Bofur chuckled, and Bilbo shivered as another hot puff of air touched his face.  
  
"All right?" Dwalin asked, and Bilbo tried to turn and look at him, but he only succeeded at almost falling off Bofur, who tightened his arms to hold Bilbo's smaller form securely against his own.   
  
"Is that dinner?" Bofur asked and Bilbo's stomach rumbled in hopeful enquiry.  
  
"I can't eat like this," Bilbo pointed out and contemplated squirming again. Only... that didn't seem like a very clever idea. Because of _reasons not strictly related to tumbling to the ground_. "And where are my clothes?"  
  
"Better to share body heat without a bunch of layers in the way," Dwalin said as he knelt down next to them, putting two bowls on the ground before making himself comfortable. "All right, give him here."  
  
"Now wait a moment." Bilbo squirmed as Dwalin lifted him away from Bofur and he kept squirming as he was settled down on Dwalin’s lap as if he was a babe. "This is not-" as soon as he got his hands free one of them acquired a bowl of soup and Bilbo's stomach rumbled again as the rich meaty scent of it made it to his nose.  
  
"Eat," Dwalin prompted as Bofur sat up and pulled on his shirt before grabbing his own bowl. "A full stomach will help keep you warm."  
  
Dwalin was just as much of a furnace as Bofur had been, so it seemed very unlikely that he'd be cold when pressed right up against him as he was, but Bilbo _was_ hungry.   
  
His wings (and that was still a very strange though to have) were a little bit squished since they were pressed against Dwalin's chest, but not uncomfortably so as whoever had wrapped him up in blankets had done a good job of tucking in the wings without it feeling too constricting.   
  
Actually… sitting like this, feeling the steady rise and fall of Dwalin’s breathing, being held, being warm, that was rather cosy and nice and-  
  
Sighing Bilbo stopped that thought before it got embarrassing and instead lifted the bowl to his mouth.  
  
If this was somehow Gandalf's fault then they would have _words_. Bilbo wasn't sure what sort of words, but he was rather sure that they would be loud ones.  
  
He really should get one of the Dwarfs to teach him at least a few words of their language. It seemed like such a very excellent one to shout in.  
  
-

When Bilbo woke up the next morning he was still on the ground, which was a relief.   
  
Only… finding himself lying between Dwalin and Bofur; mostly on top of Dwalin, the three of them snug as something very snug indeed, well, relief was not the word Bilbo would use.  
  
But it was… _nice_. Which was part of the problem. Especially when Thorin noticed that he was awake and stomped over to stand next to them, giving Bilbo a surly and rather frosty glare.  
  
“Not in a tree today.”  
  
It didn’t really sound like a question (what it sounded like was someone very grumpy) but Bilbo decided to treat it like a question anyway. At least Thorin hadn’t called him Halfling, so… baby steps.  
  
“No, indeed not,” he agreed, trying to discretely get down from Dwalin without waking him, or Bofur, and without flapping his wings free of the blankets in the process as with his luck he’d then managed to slap someone in the face.   
  
That someone would probably be Thorin too, Bilbo realised glumly. And then he _really_ would have a reason to be grumpy.   
  
“Piss off,” Dwalin muttered without opening his eyes. “Not you,” he added, when Bilbo began to wriggle in earnest, something he stopped the very moment a big warm hand came up to press against the small of his back.   
  
Um. Yes. It was really very big, and very warm hand, and Bilbo might have gotten distracted there for a moment because he only heard Thorin spit out the end of a sentence that he wouldn’t have understood anyway. Had Thorin started to forget how you spoke Westron?  
  
Dwalin sighed. “Thorin, it’s too early for this.”  
  
“Or too _late_ ,” Thorin said pointedly, and Bilbo tilted his head.

“But it’s just after dawn?”  
  
Thorin didn’t reply and instead stalked off muttering beneath his breath about something not being suitable for a quest as importance as this one.

Bilbo waited to see if there’d be any new curse words in that interesting-sounding language but if any came it was after Thorin had moved too far away to be heard.  
  
“Mind his own business,” Dwalin murmured, and Bilbo wondered if he knew that his hand was now rubbing small, cosy circles on Bilbo’s shirt. Bilbo was _very_ much aware of it, and of how his skin was just below said shirt, but then again, it was _his_ back so that order of things was only natural. Perhaps backs had more awareness than hands, even though that seemed-  
  
“Morning,” Bofur yawned and Bilbo turned to look at him, a smile finding its way to his lips at the rumpled image Bofur presented. More hair was sticking out of his braids than currently bound in them, and it was only more apparent since Bofur for once wasn’t wearing his hat.  
  
Coming down from the yawn Bofur smiled back, green eyes crinkling at the corners. “Now that’s a pretty sight.”

“What?” Bilbo blinked, a thought of pancakes and clotted cream for breakfast flashing through his mind.  
  
“Well, you.”  
  
Dwalin snorted and Bofur reached over Bilbo to poke him, unintentionally squashing Bilbo between them in the process, but that was also rather… nice.

It was possible that Bilbo needed to find a better word to describe what he felt when Bofur and Dwalin were this close to him.  
  
It was also possible that Bilbo had already found such a word and that was why a blush was again spreading over his neck and face. Best think of other things. Like weeds and bugs and that annoying frog that lived in one of his flower beds and the bloated, upset noises it made whenever Bilbo watered it by accident. It wasn’t his fault that his roses needed water, he’d not decided how roses should work. Or asked the frog to move in. Or-  
  
“Right,” Bofur said, after finishing a mostly silent conversation with Dwalin that Bilbo only caught the end of; that being Bofur’s eyebrows twitching and Dwalin humming in agreement. “No time like the present to make a few things clear, I think. We think.”  
  
Bilbo’s wings twitched nervously, straining against the blankets in a way that made him start, and this time when he squirmed Dwalin allowed him to sit up.  
  
If Bilbo took a moment to mourn the loss of his hand that was his own personal business.

“The both of us would like to court you,” Bofur said and Bilbo’s jaw dropped in a manner most unbecoming a gentlehobbit. “If you’re amenable of course. If you're only wanting to go with one of us-“ he exchanged a look with Dwalin “- well, then I hope you won't mind us still carrying on at the same time. With each other. Well, not the same time, but when the one of us that you’d not be interested in would not mind- and you’d not mind-“ Bofur scratched his head. “Wait, that rather got away from me. What was I saying?”  
  
Dwalin snorted and sat up as well, blankets pooling in his lap and Bilbo resolutely kept his eyes on Dwalin’s face. Dwalin, unlike Bilbo himself, had decided to go without shirt again, and staring would be very rude indeed.   
  
The quick little flick up and down surely didn't count. Bilbo’s eyes had done that without asking first. How rude of them.  
  
“If you're not interested in either of us we’ll understand,” Dwalin rumbled, leaning backwards in a way that made his shoulders most distracting and Bilbo bit the inside of his cheek.  
  
“Well, perhaps not _understand_ ,” Bofur said thoughtfully. “I mean, we’re both quite handso-“  
  
“Bofur…”  
  
“You mean that the both of you?” Bilbo looked between them. “And then, _me_? At the same time?”  
  
Bofur shrugged, giving Dwalin a bright smile before turning back to Bilbo. “I still claim I liked you first-“  
  
“I _met_ him first and-“  
  
“And then when we were arguing about that I realised that Dwalin did not only have good taste but is also very handsome, which was a nice windfall.” Bofur’s grin widened. “In other words, we got to know each other better whilst we were admiring your _technique_ on pony back. Amongst other things.”  
  
“Right,” Bilbo said faintly.   
  
“For example, you’ve got very pretty lips?” Bofur said hopefully, leaning a little closer.  
  
Something buzzed next to Bilbo’s ear, and figuring out that it wasn’t his brain overheating Bilbo plucked the offending dragonfly out of the air and stuffed it in his mouth.  
  
The moment afterwards his eyes widened and he spit the poor thing out, his wings fluttering rapidly behind him. The dragonfly’s wings did much the same before it zipped away as fast as it could, far, far away from apparently addlebrained Hobbits.  
  
Bilbo wondered a little mournfully why he couldn’t have gotten wings like that, and then he spat again for good measure.  
  
Bofur gave him a somewhat awkward look and scratched the back of his neck. “So, not just a fruit-eating bat then?”

“Go and get him something to drink,” Dwalin sighed. “Bilbo, if you don’t want a kiss you don’t need to eat bugs to get out of it. Though I'm sure Thorin will approve of your choice."  
  
It took a moment for Bilbo to get what Dwalin meant. Oh. Right. _Dragon_ fly.  
  
“If you can even _think_ about kissing me now you must really,” Bilbo paused as he realised what he was going to say. “Um, like me?”

Bofur nodded and Dwalin sighed. “Wouldn’t be looking to court you otherwise, would we?”  
  
That was… nice.  
  
Really, he needed to find a better word than _nice_.  



	4. Chapter 4

Perhaps if someone would teach him a bit of a certain language Bilbo would have better luck finding better words than ‘nice’. But no, no one would even admit that there was another language to teach him, which was frankly ridiculous as he’d heard it with his own ears several times now.   
  
The first time had been as early as back in his smial when Thorin had yelled at everyone to sit down and shut their mouths, or something to that extent. The sitting and being quiet had definitely been the result of it anyway. Rather impressive really. But it had definitely not been in Westron and no one could tell him otherwise.  
  
But speaking about ears and nice, Bilbo thought it would be nice indeed if Fíli and Kíli stopped looking at his ears whilst whispering to each other.  
  
“Yes, bats have pointy ears, I have pointy ears,” Bilbo finally sighed. “Do you see me calling you all teapots just because you’ve got round ones?”  
  
“If we grew spouts overnight you would be entitled to,” Fíli said as Kíli squinted that little bit harder.  
  
“Is it possible that Hobbits and bats were made at the same time? You even have the same type of short and stubby nose.”  
  
“Have you ever actually seen a bat?” Bilbo asked, offended. “We’re not at all alike.”  
  
“Except for the wings and ears,” Fíli supplied.  
  
“Well, yes, except for that,” Bilbo sniffed.  
  
“And hanging upside-down in trees.”  
  
“I did it _once_! And I don’t remember it.”   
  
“Your name even starts with a B.” Kíli gasped, making Myrtle’s ears twitch. “And so did your parents’ names. You told us!”  
  
Bilbo took a very deep breath. “How does that even remotely-“  
  
“Fíli, Kíli!” Dwalin called from further up their little line of ponies. “Go on and scout ahead.”  
  
Kíli sighed and his shoulders drooped, but Fíli only shrugged. “Come on then,” he told his brother. “We’ll see if we can find Gandalf. I’m sure he’d know.”  
  
“I’m _not_ related to a bat!” Bilbo called after them as they spurred on their ponies. “Neither were my parents! Stupid Dwarfs,” he added in a mutter.  
  
“So, I was going to offer you a pear,” Bofur said from behind. “And I still will if you promise not to hold it against me. No offence intended, just a pear.” When Bilbo turned to look at him a bright grin was aimed his way. “Though if you want to hold other things against me you are very welcome to.”  
  
He held up the pear, which looked juicy and plump and was a nice yellowish green. Sadly Bilbo didn’t at all feel n the mood for a pear.   
  
“I had one before. It was good,” Bofur said encouragingly.   
  
“Bofur…” Bilbo shook his head. “That’s sweet of you, thank you very much but-“  
  
“No pressure,” Bofur promised and made the pear disappear into a pocket. “Accepting pears can be a big step. How about a kiss?”  
  
Despite himself Bilbo snorted. “A kiss is less of a step?”  
  
“Well, a pear will go inside you,” Bofur said. “However if I get a kiss I promise to behave. And no biting involved.”

Bilbo blinked, swaying a little on his pony as his wings twitched. “That- I’ve got a rather uncomfortable image in my mind at the moment. Involving pears.”  
  
“I’ve got an apple too?” Bofur offered. “Though I guess that’s not very helpful. It _is_ quite round.”  
  
-  
  
“Do you also come to woo me with fruit and innuendo?” Bilbo asked some time later when Dwalin’s pony ended up next to his. Bofur had gone to ride with Bombur and Bifur after Bilbo had accepted the apple, and Bilbo was just getting down to the core when Dwalin turned up.  
  
“More Bofur’s thing than mine.”  
  
“Did he try it on you too?”  
  
Dwalin snorted. “Didn’t really need to. Not really looking to be wooed. No need to make things complicated.”  
  
“How do you make things uncomplicated then?” Bilbo asked and Dwalin shrugged.   
  
“Talking seems to help. I thought I’d give it a go and tell you that you make the best cookies I’ve ever tasted and when you laugh I want you to keep on laughing, both because you look beautiful and because I like you being happy. Didn’t think you’d be good company but I was wrong. Not sure you’ll be a good burglar but maybe I’m wrong about that too.”  
  
“That’s… very sweet actually.” Bilbo bit his lip, feeling a little overwhelmed. “And you feel the same way about Bofur?”  
  
“Never tried his cookies.”  
  
That surprised a laugh out of Bilbo, which made Dwalin look rather smug. “And I’m pretty sure he’d make a crap burglar. Can’t be quiet for more than a few moments at the time.”  
  
“He’s very charming though,” Bilbo admitted.   
  
“You mean when he’s not causing you to faint?”  
  
“Do you really want to bring that up now?” Bilbo said and tried to figure out of it was possible to give Myrtle the apple core without falling off in the process. “You ate my dinner so I think that makes you about even.”  
  
It seemed unlikely that his arms would spontaneously grow, so Bilbo sighed and tossed the last bit of the apple to where Gandalf’s horse was trotting along with the rest of them. As he did not have a rider, and they’d discovered he didn’t even need to be tied to one of the other ponies to follow along, no one would suffer from the abrupt halt when he stopped to snuffle happily at the ground.  
  
“We were both sorry,” Dwalin rumbled. “You could have told me that it was your dinner I was eating.”  
  
Bilbo snorted. “Yes, very remiss of me.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”  
  
“And how do you plan on doing that?” Bilbo asked. “Do I get to eat your dinner tonight?”

“Do you want to?”  
  
“Bombur would frown at me if I did,” Bilbo shook his head. “And talk about the injustice in the world and that I shouldn’t be greedy. It would be terribly sad.”  
  
“What do you want then?” Dwalin asked, half-jesting, half-serious. “I’d like to make amends.”  
  
“I don’t need- no, wait. A backrub.”  
  
“A backrub?”  
  
Bilbo nodded. “My back aches a little. No doubt due to the wings. And I’d like someone to rub it.”  
  
Dwalin’s laughter was very pleasing, and yes, Bilbo might want to hear more of it too.  
  
“You’re asking me to rub you. Rub ‘it’, to be precise.”

“Back! My back!” Bilbo protested.  
  
“Don’t worry, I’ll rub whatever you want me to.” Dwalin’s voice dropping into a husky growl was also something Bilbo wouldn’t mind hearing again. Even if he was being very difficult.  
  
“That’d be my back,” Bilbo said and sniffed.  
  
“Fair enough,” Dwalin agreed, and the smile Bilbo received he could only describe as sweet.  
  
Apparently he’d traded ‘nice’ in for ‘sweet’, but that was still progress wasn’t it? A few more words and he’d be back to having a functioning vocabulary.   
  
-  
  
“Right,” Bofur said when Bilbo gave up on biting back his moans. “Fair warning. I might need to eat your dinner tomorrow. Or get Dwalin to eat mine. I’m leaning towards both. I’m _really_ seeing the benefits of both.”  
  
“Just leave my dinner alone and I’ll rub your back,” Dwalin said. “Maybe you can rub Bilbo’s at the same time.”  
  
“No, no,” Bilbo said, not seeing Bofur’s shoulders droop a little at the perceived rejection. “No, oh, right _there_ , no, if you’re giving him a backrub there should be no distractions.” Bilbo sighed and melted a little further into his bedroll. “This is wonderful. Bofur trust me, you need to, oh, that’s- yes, _harder_.”  
  
It had been a little awkward at first, because they’d quickly realised that Dwalin really needed to be straddling Bilbo for a backrub to work. He’d tried kneeling by Bilbo’s side but with two pesky wings that couldn’t stay still that had been somewhat challenging.   
  
At the moment Bilbo was fairly sure that his wings were just as melted as he was, they’d not even twitched for the longest time and were currently spread out flat against the ground on each side of him.  
  
“Right, trust you,” Bofur murmured, voice a little husky, but Bilbo didn’t really notice as his brain was busy dribbling out of his ears. When Dwalin found a particularly sensitive spot just below his left shoulder blade it was all he could do not to disappear down into the ground.   
  
Of course Bilbo wasn’t quite finished with turning into a Hobbit puddle when his backrub was rudely interrupted by Gandalf’s return.   
  
_Wizards_.  



	5. Chapter 5

“Hmmmm,” was Gandalf’s first comment concerning Bilbo’s wings, and if he was going to follow it up with a comment about magic like Balin had, then those _words_ Bilbo was planning to have with him would begin right then and there and not stop until his throat was too sore to go on.  
  
“Your mother travelled outside the Shire, did she not?”  
  
“Yes, she went all the way to Rivendell once,” Bilbo said, blinking in surprise. “But what does that-“  
  
“And she did not mention anything like this?” Gandalf asked, beginning to fiddle with his pipe, appearing to think that his pipe required more attention than Bilbo’s wings.  
  
“No,” Bilbo gritted out from between somewhat clenched teeth. “She didn’t. If she had then I would not have been so surprised now would I? And I never found her sleeping in a tree either if you’d care to know.”  
  
“Do you think she would have told you if any of this had happened to her?”  
  
“How should I know,” Bilbo said, throwing his hands up frustration, and almost tipping over when his wings decided that it was a good time to start flapping.  
  
Gandalf hummed again, tapping the stem of his pipe against his cheek.

“That my mother did _not_ tell me is not proof that something similar happened to her,” Bilbo said after he’d righted himself with some help from Dwalin. “Especially not that it would have happened because she happened to leave the Shire.”  
  
“To be sure we would need to travel by Rivendell and talk with-“  
  
“Out of the question,” Thorin growled.  
  
“Bilbo is not the only one who would benefit from the Elves’ advice,” Gandalf said to no one in particular as he studiously did not look at Thorin.  
  
“If, and I repeat _if_ this happened to my mother then something else happened that made her lose her wings again,” Bilbo said, trying to stop the argument he could feel brewing. “And regardless of if that has to do with me returning home or not I’m sure it’ll be sorted out eventually. Unless you can sort them out right away?” he added, trying not to sound too hopeful.  
  
“I’m afraid not,” Gandalf said. “I wouldn’t be able to make one of your legs vanish either and your wings appear to be just as much part of you as any other limb.”  
  
“Oh,” Bilbo said glumly.  
  
“As for waking up in trees,” Gandalf looked around. “Well, we’ll soon pass into an area without much vegetation at all. So it should not be an immediate problem. Perhaps you could sleep next to someone who would wake if you moved during the night?”  
  
Bofur held his hand up. “No worries. I volunteer. If that’s all right with you Bilbo?”          
  
“This cannot become a distraction,” Thorin said sternly.  
  
“Yeah the moaning before was kinda distracting,” Kíli added with a wink, pretending not to see the look his uncle gave him.  
  
“It was a _backrub_ ,” Bilbo said with utmost dignity. And not at all flushed cheeks.  
  
-  
  
Wings turned out to be entirely useless when trying to burgle ponies from Trolls, and also when escaping Orcs.  
  
Thus Bilbo concluded that the theory Fíli and Kíli had constructed; the one about Hobbits growing wings as a safety measure, was utter _bullcrap_. Bilbo even tried to fly as they’d been running for their lives, thinking that the horrible images of himself going splat against the ground playing behind his eyes wasn’t worse than being eaten, but it hadn’t worked.  
  
His wings were not in any way useful. And he was quite sure his mother hadn’t ever had any.  
  
Which was further proven when they arrived to Rivendell and none of the Elves could ever remember seeing a Hobbit with wings before. But some of them did remember his mother, which was nice. Or sweet. Or both.  
  
Not to say that the detour was wasted because if they’d not ended up in Rivendell Bilbo would have been in a very foul mood indeed. He was already missing Myrtle something terrible and he really hoped that the Wargs had been too busy chasing them to bother at all with the ponies.  
  
Rivendell was absolutely beautiful though, and just taking it all in was a very good distraction from all sorts of troubles. Not to mention that they were given lovely rooms, and food, and there were absolutely no Orcs or anything else that wanted to eat them around.  
  
Three reasons to celebrate, even for Thorin, who had looked like he’d eaten an entire lemon ever since they’d realised where they were, but he did cheer up a little when Bofur produced a flute from his pocket and started on a happy little tune.  
  
As lovely as that was though Bilbo felt in need of a walk. Sure, there’d been a lot of running earlier, but now he’d enjoyed a long and filling dinner and he felt like stretching his legs. And fine, his wings too. Not to mention that a walk would probably be good for his back. The dratted thing had started aching again, no doubt not a fan of his attempts to fly.  
  
Clearly his back was a lot smarter than he was.  
  
He’d not gone far before he heard heavy steps behind, and he turned to see Dwalin walking towards him. Smiling over his shoulder to let Dwalin know his company wasn’t unwelcome Bilbo continued to trot along the path he’d chosen for himself, stopping once he came to a balcony overlooking most of the valley.  
  
“You shouldn’t be alone,” was the explanation given when Bilbo raised an inquiring eyebrow to his self-invited companion.  
  
“Yes, I’m sure it’s now that the real dangers will begin,” Bilbo said and looked out at their beautiful surroundings, white buildings and trees and waterfalls, everything painted gold around the edges by the setting sun.  
  
“Appearance can be deceiving,” Dwalin said, a touch more darkly than seemed warranted, but Bilbo did not question him further. That there was bad blood between Dwarfs and Elves was plain to see, and if Dwalin would like to share any details he was welcome to, but Bilbo would not pry.  
  
“They can,” he said instead. “For example I’ll admit to have been a little uneasy when you first came to my door. But that was certainly a first impression that did not last.”  
  
“I was quite polite I think,” Dwalin sniffed. “Offering you my services.”  
  
“Before you ate my food, yes,” Bilbo said. “And was it really necessary to loom like that?”  
  
“Are you angling for another backrub?”  
  
“I’d not say no,” Bilbo admitted. “I don’t think I did it any favour with the running we did. Or my tragic attempts at becoming the first flying Hobbit.”  
  
Dwalin touched his hand to the small of Bilbo’s back, just briefly, but the shadow of warmth it left immediately spread into Bilbo’s stomach where it curled up in a content pile of fuss.  
  
“Does it hurt bad?”  
  
Bilbo shook his head. “No, it just aches a bit. You were really good before.”  
  
Dwalin smirked and Bilbo sighed, but he couldn’t hide a smile.  
  
“I feel like every conversation I have with you and Bofur ends up as innuendo.”  
  
“Problem?”  
  
“I don’t know, is it?”  
  
“Not for me,” Dwalin shrugged. He leaned a little closer. “But, you’ve not said, if you accept our courtship or not. Or either one of us. If you don’t, let me know and we’ll stop.”  
  
“Would I still get backrubs?” Bilbo asked, one corner of his mouth turning up into a smile. “No, don’t answer that. But would you tell me about what it means to be in a courtship?”  
  
“Hobbits don’t have courtships?”  
  
“We do, but how should I know we have the same sort. For all I know I’m agreeing to get your names tattooed somewhere uncomfortable.”  
  
“Just on your arm,” Dwalin said blandly. “Won’t hurt much.”  
  
“ _Just on_ \- Oh, very funny,” Bilbo said when he noticed Dwalin’s mouth twitching beneath his moustache.  
  
It took some concentration, and it ached just a little, but it was worth it to see Dwalin’s face after Bilbo’s wing twacked him on the back of his head.  
  
“ _So_ sorry,” Bilbo said. “Seems like I still can’t control them.”  
  
Dwalin snorted. “Right.”  
  
“There you are, been looking everywhere!”  
  
“Funny that,” Dwalin said as Bofur joined them. “We’ve been here pretty much since we left.”

“That’s why I’ve not found you then, haven’t looked here before now.” Bofur walked up to the balcony railings and whistled softly. “Surprisingly big this place. So, what were you two giggling about?”

“I’d just asked Dwalin if he could explain courtships to me.”  
  
“You don’t have courtships in the Shire?”  
  
“I told him about the tattoo requirements,” Dwalin said and Bilbo gave him a dirty look.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Bofur grinned. “You’ll barely feel a thing.”  
  
Bilbo very deliberately let his gaze travel down Bofur’s body, stopping at his crotch. “Well, that’s a shame.”  
  
When Dwalin started to laugh Bilbo’s wings did a happy little flutter, which was repeated when Bofur turned his nose up and huffed, only managing to look offended for a few moments before he too started to snicker.  
  
“I’d offer to drop my trousers here and now if I thought you’d take me up on it,” Bofur managed after a couple of false starts where he’d been giggling too much to speak.

“I’ll take you up on it,” Dwalin grinned. “Just to scandalise a few Elves if nothing else.”  
  
“’Course,” Bofur nodded. “No other reason to see my bits.”  
  
“No one is getting naked here,” Bilbo protested.  
  
“Oh, just where _can_ we get naked then?” Bofur teased.  
  
“Someone owes me a backrub first. Then we’ll see.”  
  
“I’m sure there are very large beds in this place,” Bofur said hopefully. “Just for sleeping, if you want. And backrubs of course. But, I’d like to spend the night with you, both of you, if you’d be agreeable to that.”  
  
“I am,” Dwalin said, shrugging one shoulder.  
  
“You don’t mind that everyone would know then?” Bilbo asked. “About us? Sharing a room… that would make things rather obvious.”  
  
Bofur and Dwalin exchanged a look. “Erm, Bilbo,” Bofur said and awkwardly pulled on one of his hat flaps. “They already know. That we’re interested in you that is. ‘s why Thorin came to growl at us that morning after you’d almost fallen off your pony. He already knew. You might have been the last one to figure it out.”  
  
“Because if Thorin knows everyone knows,” Dwalin muttered. “Take my word for it.”  
  
“Thorin would tell them?”  
  
Dwalin snickered. “No, he’s not one to gossip. But he’s also not one to pay a lot of attention to other people’s affairs. If he figured out that it wasn’t pure selfishness that caused Bofur and me to suffer your cold toes to keep you warm the rest of them will know as well.”  
  
“They’ll not bother you about it if you’re not interested,” Bofur promised. “Um, however if you _are_ interested, I’m not making any promises. Between Dwalin and myself, the only ones we’re not related to are Dori, Nori and Ori. And family’s family.”  
  
“And family is nosy. And protective,” Dwalin sighed.

“Wait, you’re related to Thorin? To a king?”  
  
Bofur nodded at Dwalin. “That’d be him. What’s the count, you’re eight in line for the throne or something like that?”  
  
“Something like that,” Dwalin snorted. “It’s not like it matters. No one’s going to give me a crown and I’d not accept even if they did. That’s not for me.”  
  
Bilbo opened his mouth to ask how everyone was related but what came out was a yawn, followed by a full body shiver. Then everything got dark. But this time it was not due to any cold-induced fainting spell. No, it was simply due to his wings deciding to wrap themselves around him snugly enough that Bilbo felt like a caterpillar with grand aspirations to become a butterfly.  
  
“Um, so I didn’t mean to do that,” Bilbo said, somewhat muffled.  
  
“Bit hard to carry on a conversation like this,” Bofur remarked, voice thick with amusement. “And I do like looking at you for that matter.”  
  
“Not meaning to start it with the innuendo,” Dwalin said, also sounding rather amused. “But do we need to carry you to bed? That is, if you’re willing to share with us.”  
  
“Might want to say yes,” Bofur suggested. “Or if you say now you should at least ask for an extra blanket. Maybe two,” he added when Bilbo shivered again, wings tightening a little around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last two bits will be posted tomorrow.


	6. Chapter 6

Bilbo was getting tired of waking up and immediately knowing that something was strange.

He’d gone to bed with Dwalin and Bofur, just to sleep, mind. Well, a backrub had happened, and it had been just as wonderful as last time.

There was a difference getting one when it was just him, Dwalin and Bofur together in a room. But he rather liked that difference. It was more… intimate. And Kíli wouldn’t be able to tease him afterwards, which was ni- _lovely_.  
  
And he liked waking up warm and comfortable between the both of them. What he did _not_ like was realising that his wings appeared to have grown over night.  
  
When he’d gone to bed his wings had been small enough that no part of them hung over the edge of the bed as he’d stretched out and allowed Dwalin to liquefy his spine with his very slide and press of his large and oh so talented hands. But now… they- he could feel the rise and fall of Dwalin’ and Bofur’s chests beneath his wings, _and_ he could also feel the tips of said wings touch the floor.

His back didn’t really ache though so at least that was something. And he wasn’t hanging upside down from a tree. Yes, he should focus on the positive. Like how he was not going to need any blankets ever again. Not even in the winter. Not with wings like these and two furnaces cleverly masquerading as Dwarfs next to him.  
  
_Oh_.   
  
Bilbo blinked down at his pillow as he realised what he’d just thought.  
  
Winter. Not to mention ‘ever again’. That was a rather long time to plan ahead, wasn’t it? And he’d not even agreed to the courtship yet. He’d not even-  
  
“Wake up,” Bilbo said and squirmed, nudging both of his bed mates with an elbow each. “Dwalin, Bofur, wake up.”

“Hrm, oh your wings-?“ Bofur said as he blinked awake and realised that there was indeed a great deal more wing on top of him than there should be.  
  
“Yes, yes, that’s not important at the moment,” Bilbo interrupted flapping his hand at Bofur before nudging Dwalin again.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Dwalin asked, not opening his eyes yet. “Anyone dead or dying?”  
  
“Nothing’s wrong. I just- I’ve not even kissed either of you, and all right, that certainly seems wrong. But- there’s two of you, and I don’t want to be rude and just pick one to start with. So wake up and tell me how I’m supposed to handle something like this.”

“So what I gathered from that was kissing,” Bofur said and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Which is lovely. Didn’t really take you for a morning person though, Bilbo.”  
  
“I sleep better in beds than on the ground,” Bilbo sniffed. “Strange, I know. Help me sit up properly?”  
  
“I know it’s not polite to talk size in bed,” Bofur said as he helped Bilbo work himself up into a kneeling position. “But your wings are definitely bigger than last night. Are they very happy to see us?”  
  
Bilbo waved a finger in front of his nose, and a wing, for good measure. Strangely, it was easier for him to control the wings now, despite them being larger. “We’ll get to that. Kissing first.”  
  
“I’m not opposed the current conversation,” Dwalin rumbled, still lying on his back with both eyes closed. “But is it even dawn yet?”  
  
“I’ll just kiss Bofur first then, shall I?”  
  
“Not opposed,” Bofur smiled.   
  
With a groan Dwalin opened his eyes and stretched, showing off very many, very nice muscles which strained and bunched very intriguingly beneath his skin. Dwalin was not one to want to wear shirts in bed it seemed.   
  
Bilbo couldn’t say that he was opposed this habit.  
  
“I’ll wait my turn,” Dwalin said, scooting up a little to rest against the headboard.  
  
“Have you two already-?” Bilbo asked, suddenly feeling a little shy.  
  
“Kissed yes,” Bofur said as he reached out for Bilbo’s hand. “And touched, a little. But nothing more than that.”  
  
“I’m hoping he’s as good in bed as he is a kisser,” Dwalin said as he sat up against the headboard.  
  
Bofur snorted. “Well, we already know that you’re very capable of making Bilbo moan. Making me all sorts of jealous.”  
  
“Your turn now,” Dwalin replied. “Go on then.”

“I’m not used to an audience,” Bilbo murmured as Bofur shuffled closer, close enough that their knees touched.   
  
“I don’t mind watching,” Bofur said as he slipped his fingers between Bilbo’s, bringing their hands up to his mouth. “Not if it’s you and Dwalin I get to look at. But touching is fun too. Kissing is even better.” His moustache tickled when he closed the last inch of distance between his lips and Bilbo’s hand, but his lips were soft. “And look, there’s _one_ kiss over and done with already.”

“That’s a hint,” Dwalin said drily. “He’s never happy with just one kiss.”  
  
“Oh, shush you,” Bofur said but he leaned forward and Bilbo did the same.  
  
It was a soft kiss, one acknowledging that stale morning breath was very much a thing, but it was indeed a good one. Even though Bofur’s moustache was just as tickly on his face as on the back of his hand.   
  
Bilbo’s cheeks burned as he could very well indeed imagine, had in fact just imagined, how it would feel like in other places.  
  
“Oh, _no_ ,” Bilbo whined when his wings took initiative and wrapped themselves around him and Bofur, not because of the sudden darkness, but because it caused Bofur to flinch and pull back. He couldn’t really go far, but it was far enough that he broke the kiss.  
  
“I’m feeling a little left out now,” Dwalin remarked, and Bilbo shivered when Dwalin’s hands stroked over the outside of his wings. Or wait, would that be the inside? He wasn’t even sure how they-  
  
“’s rather cosy,” Bofur remarked, and his breath was indeed a bit stale but not terribly so. “A bit dark. Oh hullo,” he added when Bilbo shivered and folded his wings back and down, sternly telling them to stay put this time. “And hello to you to,” he said to Dwalin when the larger Dwarf moved to kneel behind him, strong arms sliding around Bofur’s waist, one continuing up over his chest and then further up still to cup his jaw.  
  
“Hello,” Dwalin said, nudging Bofur’s head to the side and leaning in to kiss him.  
  
Bilbo was beginning to understand Bofur’s point about not minding to watch.  
  
They both had their eyes closed, so perhaps he should have felt left out, but Bofur was still holding his hand and their knees touched, and Dwalin had been so very clear that he wanted the both of them, so it was quite difficult to feel anything except intrigued.

The two people before him were very different from what he’d thought beauty was before having thirteen Dwarfs and a Wizard show up for dinner, but beautiful was still what he found them to be.   
  
This thing between the three of them… Bilbo couldn’t imagine that it’d be easy, not in the least because Thorin seemed to disapprove of it, but if he’d wanted easy he could have just stayed in the Shire where every day was more or less the same and no one ever woke up to find two Dwarfs in their bed or wings on their back. Or so he assumed.  
  
If anyone did find those things on a regular basis they sure hadn’t seen it fit to share that information with him.  
  
When Bofur pulled away from Dwalin he squeezed Bilbo’s hand and turned to give the Hobbit a warm, if somewhat sleepy smile. “The two of you now.”  
  
“If you’d like,” Dwalin said and Bilbo nodded.  
  
“Yes, please.”  
  
A small bit of shuffling around later it was Dwalin’s knees that nudged up against Bilbo’s, and while Bilbo was still holding Bofur’s hand, Dwalin’s hands had settled on Bilbo’s waist.  
  
“The tattoo won’t hurt at all,” Dwalin said, left corner of his mouth twitching up into a smirk and Bofur nodded earnestly.  
  
“Truly.”  
  
“You are not even half as funny as you think,” Bilbo sniffed before leaning forward.  
  
Dwalin’s beard was much softer than it looked, as were his lips, and Bilbo hummed happily into the kiss, and again when Bofur moved close enough that Bilbo could feel the heat of him all along his side.  
  
“You’ll let us court you?” Dwalin asked, and Bilbo nodded and closed the distance between them again for another kiss.  
  
“No bugs this time,” Bofur noted, and it took Bilbo a moment to understand what he meant.  
  
“I didn’t at all do it intentionally,” Bilbo sighed as he tugged at Bofur’s hand to get him to come close enough to get another kiss as well. “And I hope I never ever do it again.”  
  
“No need to do it on my account,” Bofur agreed before brushing a kiss on the top of Bilbo’s head before pecking the tip of his nose, and then finally his lips. “I much prefer to be kissed compared to seeing you terrify tiny flying things.”  
  
“Speaking of,” Dwalin said. “I think your wings are large enough to actually allow you to fly now. I don’t think they were before.”  
  
“They feel a little different,” Bilbo said, stretching his wings out on each side of him. “And my back doesn’t hurt anymore.”  
  
“No more backrubs?” Bofur asked, an exaggeratedly disappointed note to his voice. “I was getting very fond of those. Surprisingly fond indeed since I wasn’t even really involved in either giving or receiving.” He winked, all trace of sadness gone. “I do like both, just for you information.”  
  
“Do you get the feeling he’s not talking about backrubs?” Bilbo asked Dwalin.  
  
“I’m perfectly willing to demonstrate if you’d like,” Bofur said, and yes, that was _not_ the sort of smile which alluded to backrubs.  
  
“Kissing,” Dwalin reminded him, and Bofur turned to grin at him.  
  
“Yes, I like giving and getting those too. How about you rub Bilbo’s back and I kiss him? It’ll stop Thorin from glaring at us as Bilbo won’t moan so loudly. Win-win, if not win-win-win.”  
  
“Can there be breakfast first?” Bilbo asked, tempted to just remain in bed for the entire morning, but his stomach did not find that a particularly good idea. It even rumbled a little as if to make its point of view clear indeed.  
  
Bofur laughed and planted a big smacking kiss on Bilbo’s lips. “Let’s get dressed then, because keeping you fed is actually something that’s part of courting you.”  
  
“It is?” Bilbo asked happily. “We do that too. I’d love to be able to cook for the both of you. All seven meals. And my father’s apple pie for dessert with caramel and-“ The Hobbit’s shoulders slumped a little. “Though I guess this isn’t a good time for apple pies. We’ll be leaving Rivendell soon, won’t we?”  
  
“Probably,” Dwalin said and Bilbo sighed.

“And I’ve not even seen any apple trees here.”  
  
“There’ll be time for pie though,” Bofur promised. “If not now then later. You’ll see.”  
  
“I’ll hold you to that,” Bilbo said, and when Bofur grinned at him he was helpless to do anything else except return it.  
  
“Hold me whenever you’d like,” Bofur said and brushed his hand down Bilbo’s arm. “In fact, please hold me while you feed me pie and the both of you take turns kissing me. Sounds like the perfect life.”  
  
“I like raspberry pie,” Dwalin said hopefully.  
  
Bilbo’s stomach gurgled again. “I’ll keep that in mind.”  
  
“Good,” Bofur said. “Come on now, time for us to feed you before we lose you to the first Elf wandering along holding a breakfast tray.”

“Do you really think I could fly now?” Bilbo asked as he was helped out of bed.  
  
“I won’t say I’m an expert,” Bofur chuckled. “But Bifur tried for a while to make toys that could fly, yeah? And long story short we had a bunch of birds living with us for a while, feathers everywhere… Bit of a relief that you’re not feathery to be honest, was a right bother and-“

“Point?” Dwalin asked as he pulled on his trousers before coming over to help Bofur sort his hair out, prodding him over to sit on the edge of the bed.  
  
“Oh, right,” Bofur said, turning to smile up at Dwalin, making the larger Dwarf huff and nudge his head back in place so he could continue with the braiding. “Well, judging by what I remember your wings are proportional to your body size, ‘s not like you weigh much so-“  
  
“I’ll have you know I’m considered to be of a good and proper Hobbit size,” Bilbo huffed, hand coming up to rest on his belly which sadly was a little less round than it’d been two months ago. “Or I was anyway,” he added glumly.  
  
“None of that now,” Bofur said and shook his head, much to Dwalin’s exasperation.  
  
“I’m no longer surprised that your braids usually end up a bit crooked,” he rumbled. “Can you stay _still_?” He looked at Bilbo. “Come here and sit on him or something so he doesn’t move.”  
  
“Or something,” Bofur repeated, looking very hopeful. “If you sit on me I promise to act like you’re very heavy.”  
  
“You’re ridiculous,” Bilbo said, but he still trotted over and let Bofur pull him down into his lap, not able to hide a giggle when the Dwarf groaned exaggeratedly and winced. Then he winced for real when Bilbo did, and they had to take a moment sorting Bilbo’s wings out so he could lean against Bofur’s shoulder without anything getting uncomfortably squished.  
  
“Even if you had feathers and were as thin as most of our hosts you’d be delightful,” Bofur promised, pecking Bilbo’s nose and then his lips when Bilbo tilted his face up to mock-glare at him.  
  
“Please don’t grow feathers,” Dwalin said as he secured the second of Bofur’s braids. “They make me sneeze.”

“They’d be prettier with feathers though,” Bilbo said, looking over his shoulder, his wings hunching a little, trying - and failing - to make themselves smaller.  
  
“Nothing wrong with them now,” Dwalin said, walking around the bed to get his shirt. “I like being near you without sneezing.”  
  
“Feathers are a pain to pick up,” Bofur told Bilbo sincerely.   
  
“You two are very easy to please,” Bilbo said and shook his head.  
  
“Nah,” Bofur said, tightening his arm a little around Bilbo’s waist. “I’m awfully picky really. It just happens that my demands have been perfectly met by the two people here in this room with me. But I had to wait a long time for you. Entirely worth it though.”  
  
“Same,” Dwalin said, tossing Bilbo’s and Bofur’s shirts over to them. “And I can hear Bilbo’s stomach rumbling all the way over here so obviously we’ve been waiting too long for breakfast.”

“Maybe there’s pie?” Bilbo said hopefully, pressing his shirt against his complaining belly. “Or we can stop by the kitchens first to see if they’ll let me make some.”  
  
Dwalin and Bofur exchanged a look.   
  
“Good plan.”

“I’ll help you with your shirt.”  
  
-  
  
“Oh, by the way,” Bofur asked as they were walking down the hallway, hopefully in the right direction. “Did it go all right, you wanting to kiss us? Not put you off the idea entirely I hope.”  
  
“I agreed to the courtship,” Bilbo pointed out. “Would I have done that if I never wanted to kiss you again?”  
  
“He’s not answering the question,” Bofur said to Dwalin, speaking out of the corner of his mouth. “That’s a little alarming.”  
  
“You’re not nearly as charming as you think you are,” Bilbo said and hid a smile when his wing _accidentally_ knocked Bofur’s hat off his head. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”  
  
Dwalin snorted. “And you’re not nearly as sneaky.”  
  
“I better practice then,” Bilbo said and smiled innocently up at him. “You never know when it’ll come in handy, me being a burglar and all.”  
  
“Already stolen my heart,” Bofur promised, making Bilbo smile and Dwalin groan, at least until Bofur ghosted his hand over Dwalin’s arse, at which point the groan changed from exasperation to something else.   
  
“Breakfast,” Dwalin growled. “Unless you want to- Bilbo!”  
  
“I would like to Bilbo,” Bofur nodded. “Don’t know what that means exactly but it sounds like something I could get behind, or in front of. Or below, or-“  
  
“Bofur left a… smudge,” Bilbo defended himself, removing his hand from Dwalin’s backside after a final pat. “I was just helping to clean it away. There, all gone.”  
  
“The two of you are going to be such trouble,” Dwalin sighed. “Mahal help me.”  
  
“The best sort of trouble, I assure you,” Bofur said as he tried to look innocent.  
  
“I’ll ask in the kitchen if they have raspberries,” Bilbo promised as he took Dwalin’s hand.  
  
“And apples?” Bofur asked hopefully. “Or perhaps you shouldn’t ask, just sneak inside and steal us breakfast instead.”  
  
“It’ll be pretty hard to sneak in and prepare a pie without anyone seeing me,” Bilbo said, flapping a wing in Bofur’s direction.  
  
“Practice, my dear burglar, practice.”


	7. Epilogue

“Aaaaaah!” Bilbo shouted as he flapped for his life inside Erebor’s treasure chambers. Where did the dratted door go?  
  
“ _Thief_!” Smaug thundered behind him. “I feel your _air_!”

Oh, this was _such_ a stupid plan. He should have practice sneaking after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The epilogue might just actually be a teaser. We’ll see if this grows a sequel ;))
> 
> Hope you've liked this! It was certainly fun to write!
> 
> And now I'm also proud to include the art by La Fe (It's so awesome!)
> 
>   [lafe-art.tumblr](http://lafe-art.tumblr.com/post/118872171977/batty-baggins-by-alkjira-bilbo-wanted-an)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  

**Author's Note:**

> The story is completed and the last chapter/s will be posted on the 12th.


End file.
